Dancing where?

Wherever the Anglo-Indian goes, dance follows. I was not too sure that this was the case, but when I took up my first assignment abroad, I found that the Kingdom of Bahrain was not averse to dancing and partying—western style. In 1994-95, when I was there, I didn’t become a member of the well-known “Indian Social Club”, but my credentials were enough to get me in. I attended just one dance there and it was jam-packed with revellers—with even a sprinkling of Anglo-Indians present. The Band, however, comprised good old Anglo boys and that was more than enough for me. I had a few dances with friends, but when I approached a pretty-young-thing, she point-blank refused me. Of course, my ego was bruised; instead, I made full use of the Happy Hours at the Bar and must have polished off at least a dozen large pegs before I trudged my way back home.

I did a lot of house-partying when I was in Salalah (in Oman) and it helped greatly that I was the boss-man there, for almost four years. Almost every weekend my home would be filled with party-people from different parts of the world. We were, I think, good hosts; the music was lively and engaging, all curated by my son, and the spin-off would usually be a trip to some isolated beach the next day, for Salalah has some great sight-seeing delights.

When I landed in Saudi Arabia, in Riyadh, actually, I never, in my wildest dreams, thought about dancing. But I was introduced to the same in one of the “compounds” that are popular with high-end expat personnel. I not only gambolled, I was taught by one of my partners the correct way to sway to the music of “Cotton-Eye Joe”. That was some experience, believe me.

When I decided that enough was enough where work was concerned, the missus and I embarked on a plan to visit old Blighty. Within a year of finally calling it a day, off we were to the land of our forefathers—at least that was the belief. We spent just about three months in England, did a road trip to Scotland but never really got down to the party whirl. We did attend a birthday party, but that seemed to be more about feeding the face. Another trip to one of London’s clubs was jovial enough and we did some dancing, though there may well have been some quizzical looks coming our way.

The next year, with England just a fading memory, we went on a tour to Australia, visiting Perth, Sydney and Melbourne. Perth was, if my information is correct, the original destination of many an Anglo-Indian settler, and the get-togethers that we were a part of there were definitely out of India. There was dancing, there were impromptu singing parties, accompanied by a variety of musical instruments, and then there was a “Welcome to Australia” party curated especially for us by one of our friends, complete with live band, a terrific buffet dinner and lots and lots of booze. But what made the occasion really special was the meeting up of so many old friends who had left Indian shores donkeys years ago. Imagine the reverie, the beaming faces, the anecdotes and the exchange of meaningful pleasantries and you have a genuine Anglo-Indian party, no holds barred.

Sydney was sedate in comparison, but in Melbourne things livened up again. At a party, it was almost unimaginable to think of meeting so many folks from India, from Chennai, in particular, and from Veteran Lines, to be really precise. Indeed, Veteran Lines has given the planet some really wonderful world citizens. Even today, when two or three (or five, or ten, or twenty) of our old-timers are gathered together in one place, you would say I was exaggerating about the fun and frolic all round.

Our trip to Melbourne and Australia was rounded off by a regular Dance organized by the Tang-gy group. It was a humongous occasion for us, for we got to meet old school friends, other friends that we met at the Dance-Hall in Trichy and other places, a few relatives whom we had not seen for ages—everyone caught up in the moment, intent on having a good time, as only we Anglo-Indians know how.

Wow! Wow!! Wow!!!